His greedy eyes spying the small fortune in the man’s wallet, the master of ceremonies guided the poor fellow back onto his stool. “Then your sins are forgiven, monsieur. May I suggest you commit some new ones!”
He clicked his podgy fingers, calling for a waitress to take more of the inebriate’s money, before departing, firing a warning glance at Watson as he passed.
I put my hand on Watson’s arm. “That was close. I thought we were done for.”
The doctor nodded. “Maybe we should tread more carefully, if you’re sure you want to stay?”
I had no chance to answer before our waitress returned, carrying two steaming cups. She stepped between us, leaning across to place them on the table in front of Watson. As the doctor went to pay, she hissed in his ear.
“I’ve seen your friend.”
He shot me a look before replying. “You have?”
The girl nodded, proceeding to describe Robert to perfection, from his neatly parted auburn hair to eyes the colour of sapphires. Watson glanced in my direction once again, and I nodded sharply, confirming that the description matched that of my husband.
The girl hovered at Watson’s elbow, checking that the master of ceremonies wasn’t watching, before continuing. “He came in last week, in a worse state than ever, demanding to use some of the cabaret’s, well, more… esoteric services.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.
She replied with a question of her own. “Have you heard of the Devil’s Closet?”
I shook my head.
“You see that curtain?” she said, indicating a heavy maroon cloth that hung at the back of the room. “Beyond that is a pit covered by a heavy wooden trapdoor. Customers pay to be locked inside, as if they are being buried alive.”
“Why on Earth would they do such a thing?” Watson asked in wonderment.
“Hell asks no questions,” I reminded him.
The waitress shrugged. “Sometimes they are alone–”
“But not always?” I enquired. “What about Robert?”
“He was alone. I didn’t see him go into the pit myself, but passed his request onto the master of ceremonies.”
“Our delightful friend with an aversion to clothing?” Watson inquired.
The girl gave another nervous glance in the man’s direction. “He only allows customers to be locked in for short periods of time.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. A danger of suffocation, maybe?”
My stomach churned as I watched Watson’s face. The man was forming a plan even as the girl spoke. “All part of the deprived thrill, I suppose,” he commented, rubbing his chin as he came to a decision. “Could you get us into the pit?”
The girl looked uncertain and so Watson added the clincher: “We’ll pay, of course!”
“I can ask, if you promise not to make any more trouble.”
“You have my word.”
She nodded and left our table, distracted on her way to the master of ceremonies by the drunk who, incredibly, was already ordering another round of drinks.
“What are you thinking?” I whispered, as soon as she was out of earshot.
He pulled me closer. “If your husband was here, and paid to enter that pit, then perhaps there will be something that will give us a clue to his whereabouts.”
“You’re joking?” I gasped. “You want us to actually get into the thing?”
“If there’s something there, no matter how small, it might be just what Holmes needs. While I would never pretend to share his talents, I can describe a scene as well as the next man, maybe even better.”
“Even if the next man is a woman?” I joked, trying to alleviate my own misgivings.
“We must record everything we see, no matter how insignificant. Holmes can see things that others–”
He broke off as the waitress returned to our table. “Two hundred francs,” she reported flatly. Beside me Watson swallowed and reluctantly drew out his wallet.
The moment came just twenty minutes later. The master of ceremonies danced to the front of the stage and made a great show of poking the musicians with a pitchfork before addressing the crowd.
“Prostrate yourself, sinners,” he squealed, “before the angel of the bottomless pit, the father of lies and the King of Tyre. Behold, our Lord Satan!”
With a crash of symbols, and a puff of billowing smoke, a mountain of a man strode onto the stage, resplendent in a swirling blood red robe and brandishing a wicked-looking sword. His moustache was waxed into rakish points, while pointed teeth gleamed in a wolfish smile.
“Who summons me?” Satan demanded, the master of ceremonies prostrating himself. “Who invites judgement for all eternity?”
All the time, the photographers’ cameras flashed, dazzling us all, as our waitress returned, indicating that it was time. As the pantomime played out in front of the corybantic assembly, we were led to the back of the room, narrowly missing a collision with the bearded drunk who once again fought to stay on his stool.
The serving girl held aside the curtain and we entered a gloomy antechamber, packed full of crates and bottles. The place was filthy, from grime-covered floors to the cracked window-panes of a side door that led to who knew where. I brought my hand to my nose, the fetid stink of stale beer and rat droppings threatening to overwhelm me.
“Good lord,” Watson exclaimed, sharing my disgust. “Two hundred francs for this?”
“No,” the girl said, walking towards a trapdoor in the floor, and struggling with its large iron ring. “Two hundred francs for this!”
“Allow me,” Watson said, springing forward. The girl protested, but soon stepped back to allow the doctor to haul the trapdoor open.
To the sound of the performance in the next room, we peered down into the abyss beneath our feet. Watson found an old lantern on a nearby shelf and lit it, swinging the light over the pit to reveal a short ladder, rough brick walls and a grime-covered floor at the bottom.
“And people find this pleasurable?”
“You saw the scum this place attracts, Doctor,” I replied, the waitress stiffening beside me. “No offence meant.”
“None taken,” she insisted, “but now I must ask you to descend into the pit, and I will close you in.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Watson said hurriedly. “You can go about your business, my dear, and leave us to ours.”
The serving girl looked unsure. “But I am supposed to seal you in myself–”
I reached into my jacket pocket to retrieve my wallet, producing a generous note, which I pushed into the girl’s hand. “We won’t be, if you keep watch.”
She looked back at Watson, lowering the lantern down into the darkness, and nervously made her decision. “Very well – but you only have ten minutes, while the show is underway. After it is finished, someone is bound to check.”
“Then we’d better hurry,” Watson prompted and, giving him one last worried glance, the girl slipped back into the drinking hall.
I turned and crouched beside the pit. “So, what are we looking for?”
“We’re not looking for anything,” Watson said, passing me the lantern. “I’m not about to allow a lady to put herself through such an ordeal, no matter how she’s dressed.”
I argued, but the doctor was having nothing of it. He stood, removing his jacket and placing it on a pile of crates. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he made his way around to the ladder.
“I shall enter the pit, while you hold the light over my head. There looks to be rubbish on the floor down there. If your husband were here, he might have dropped something – a ticket or some such. If there’s something that can help Holmes I’ll find it.” He paused, steeling himself. “Right, let’s get this over with.”